Sacha Baba’s Predictions

December 10, 1980, was my 45th birthday, and I went for an early morning bike ride along the banks of the Ganges. Without planning to, I found myself in front of the camp of a spiritual teacher known as Sacha Baba at the Magh Mela, known as an annual, though smaller, Kumbh Mela. On the gate was a large banner proclaiming: “The sun of Indian philosophy is now rising in the West.”

What arrogance, I thought. India is so far behind, yet these ignorant people who have been cooped up in the backwaters of India, who have never seen the West, feel they have something to teach the West. Stupid people!

For a few minutes I stood there shaking my head and smiling to myself. Then I had an impulse to go inside. It was a beautiful, cool morning. The sunshine coming over the horizon felt good. The whole Mela was unusually quiet. There was a sense of purity in the gentle breeze. I resisted my impulse to go in. That would spoil this beautiful mood, I thought to myself. 

I had first met Sacha Baba at the Kumbh Mela in 1977, and I had acquired an instant dislike for him. He was an obese man, seated on a dais, dressed only in his dhoti (traditional loincloth). A long line of devotees was approaching him. One by one they bowed and touched his bare feet, leaving currency piled up in front of him. This is just another con man making money off of people, I said to myself at the time and left with no desire to see him again.

Now I stood outside his camp as a second impulse came. Submitting to that impulse, I went inside to see that man again. I was in a frivolous mood. 

This time the scene was quite different from my first experience. Sacha Baba was wearing all-white clothing, sitting perfectly calm and quiet on a dais with his eyes closed. Half a dozen people were seated around him quietly, with their eyes closed. Peace and serenity permeated that early morning scene.

Silently, I sat down on the ground. After a while, Sacha Baba opened his eyes, looked at me, and asked me for an introduction. 

I gave him a brief background and told him that I had first met him three years ago, during the Kumbh Mela.

“It seems like you have a question,” he said.

“Yes. When I saw you three years ago, I was not impressed. You were surrounded by piles of money. I left convinced that you were just another person fleecing people out of their money. But now you seem completely different. What happened?”

All eyes turned on me, dagger-filled, as if to say, “How dare you walk in and say such things about our beloved teacher!”

But Sacha Baba was not bothered. His eyes were benign and smiling, almost mischievously. 

“Something changed within you. You are seeing the same things from a different perspective. Tell me about it.” 

I protested. I felt as if he had turned the tables on me. 

“At that time, you were focused on money, so you saw money,” he said. “Indeed, money is needed to operate this ashram and its presence is there. But something shifted in you, and you are not focused on money. You have a different quest now.” His eyes looked straight at me, inviting me to talk. 

“You seem to know,” I said. “You tell me.” I realized my tone was sharp and combative. 

Sacha Baba gently nodded his head, as if accepting my challenge. 

“You are going to go in a direction that is uphill.” He raised the palm of his right hand to indicate steepness. “It will seem dangerous and unnerving to you,” he said. 

Gently, and in a soft voice, he shared two stories. He said the first story was from the Christian tradition, in which a man was asked to tell his people of disaster coming to their city because of their evil ways. The man shared the message but on the given day, no harm came to anyone. People called him a false prophet, tarred and feathered him, placed a crown of thorns on his head, and paraded him through town on a donkey, then dumped him outside the city walls. That night, the man asked God why he was tarred and feathered instead of honored for conveying God’s message. God appeared and told him that because of his message, people corrected their evil ways and avoided the wrath of God.

“Would he rather have allowed the wrath of God and saved himself from that humiliation?” Sacha Baba asked. 

“In doing God’s work, do not look for people to shower you with flowers,” he continued. “The hands that can shower you with flowers can also pelt you with stones. You do God’s work because you are commanded to, not because you expect anything from those you serve.” 

The second story was from the Islamic tradition, he said, in which a man tested his faith in God by going into a cave in the middle of the desert, telling God he would not eat until God himself fed him. Later that day there was a sandstorm, forcing a caravan to seek shelter in the same cave. When it was time to eat, the leader of the caravan told the man it was their tradition that they must first provide food for a stranger before they could eat. The man refused, even after much beseeching. The members of the caravan threw him down on the ground, one person holding his hands, another holding his legs. A third person sat on his chest, forcing food into his mouth. The man started to laugh out loud. Bewildered, the caravan people wanted to know why he was laughing.

“God is holding my hands, God is holding my legs, and God is sitting on my chest feeding me!” the man laughed in ecstasy.

“In doing God’s work, there will be times when you will not have enough resources. There will be times when you may not even have enough food in the house,” Sacha Baba said. “Remember, God will not forsake you. God will appear in different forms to provide for you.”

Sacha Baba told me I was about to launch myself in response to God’s bidding.

“There will be times when people will not believe you,” he said. “There will be times when people will insult you. However, at no time will you be alone. At no time will you be at risk because the one who is bidding you will also be guarding you.”

Then he told another parable. The offspring of monkeys cling to their mother, and she takes them where they need to go. A cat’s kittens stray from the moment they are born, even before their eyes are open. But the mother cat watches very carefully and when the kittens stray too far, she picks them up in her mouth and brings them back.

“You are a wanderer, just like the kittens. The heavenly mother is keenly following each and every step and will pick you up and dump you where you belong.”

Sacha Baba, through his stories, was gently making a point about the power of faith. Even though he was speaking to me, it was as if he were sharing these stories with all his followers there.

“Mother has already grabbed you and is taking you where you need to be,” the Baba said.

There was silence. I became self-conscious, feeling as if all eyes were on me. They were looking at me curiously, no longer with anger.

After several minutes of deep silence, the Baba said, “You must write down your experiences.”

“To write about oneself is prohibited,” I replied. There was a sense of pride in my statement because I was quoting from the scriptures of the Hindu religion, which prohibit such writings because they feed the ego.

“If you are commissioned to write, your ego will be taken away from you.” Baba had caught the exact inference of my statement. “You will be given the power of detachment.” 

“The path you are walking is a lonely one,” he said. “People who travel this path need to have some mile markers, so they know they are on the right track. Write as an obligation for those who will come after you,” he said.

 “But I am not a writer,” I protested.

“The ability shall be provided to you,” he answered.

I had gone to the Mela for pure entertainment and ended up meeting Sacha Baba again. I left his presence with a mixture of feelings that I could not define. I did not realize this gentle saint had given me one more nudge to dive into the unknown life that was calling me.

Leave a comment